


Holding Hands

by StolenVampires



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bottom Byleth, Byleth is a tease, Fluff and Smut, Jeritza is soft, M/M, Top Jeritza, two idiots in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-22 17:10:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21080129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StolenVampires/pseuds/StolenVampires
Summary: Byleth is not known for being subtle. Jertiza is not known to be close to anyone. Yet somehow they hold each other's hands. They kiss and hide away from the eyes of others for stolen moments. It's not perfect, but for them? It's enough.





	Holding Hands

**Author's Note:**

> I got u fam. That fluff with the smut. Short n sweet aw yea.

He normally wouldn’t blush. But as the hand slipped down his arm, fingers lightly brushing over his sleeve, ticking his skin, Jeritza’s muscles were coiled tight. Byleth’s hand found his own, fingers lacing together until they were held firm, a weight in his palm and preventing him from escaping like he so wanted to do. He sucked in a small breath, moving his face away from the placid look the professor sent him, green eyes blinking in a faint amusement at the man’s discomfort. Under his mask, a dusky pink colored his cheeks for reasons the professor knew well.

They shouldn’t be involved. After all, he was the infamous Death Knight. Edelgard had recruited him only as a means to an end. Byleth was the Goddess reborn, destined to end their own legacy by aiding the new Empress. How could anyone see them together? How did they even work together? It was foolish, silliness, it wasn’t good or pure or-

Jeritza choked on his own air, the warmth of a kiss to his neck making him gasp and squirm, unease as the man pressed himself against the taller form.  
“You are being cold.” The words were spoken against his skin, hand held firm as another touched his face, fingers tracing over the edge of his mask. “You know we have permission.” It was true, they had been told they could ‘fraternize’ and Hubert wasn’t allowed to scold them anymore but the fact people knew. The fact they’d been seen holding hands…  
“You’re so mean Emile…” Lips find his ear and Jeritza can’t help the whimper. He’s so used to roughness. To pain and hard touch that the soft kisses and whispers leave his nerves frayed and body shaking in fear and anticipation.  
“Byleth.” He gasps, the hand that held his cheek moving down to his neck, fingers over fluttering pulse. “We’re in public.”  
“I want to kiss you though.” So blase, so carefree. Byleth looks at him, contrite as his lip juts out, pouting as Jeritza pulled back, knowing the heat in his face cannot all be hidden behind his mask. 

“But we’re in public…” The pout deepens, and he’s left with no other option. Bending down, his lips find Byleth’s own. Soft and warm, if slightly chapped, his hand is given a squeeze before they part, green eyes half lidded, warm with affection so rarely seen on the professor’s face.  
“You’re the mean one.” He says, face burning. His hand is lifted and looked at, eyes running over how well their fingers slat together.  
“Do you want to visit the cats later?” Byleth deflects, he’s very good at that. Jeritza can’t help how his chest tightened, images of Byleth sitting, covered in cats, mewling and batting at his hair making a fluttering feeling start in his stomach and rise upwards.  
“Yes.” His eyes find Byleth’s green, and it’s him being mean- a soft kiss to his forehead before he pulls away, untangling his fingers as he retreats to the knight’s training grounds. He needs to stab something. Maybe kill someone. He can’t help the feelings that Byleth makes him have.

“Ha- ah!” The way his back aches, taught and tight as a bow string pulled, arrow ready to fly into an enemy is nothing short of beautiful. Byleth’s fingers tangle in crisp white sheets, pulling at fibers while Jeritza’s hands are replaced with Emile’s. The mask sits on the bedside table. Here, he isn’t the fencing instructor. He isn’t the death knight. Here, he is Emile von Bartels. A man of no real merit or worth outside his noble blood and a crest, who dissolved his own bloodline to escape it. But none of it matters. Nothing matters but the sounds that come out from Byleth’s lips, the soft gasps and sighs as he bucks his hips upward, thrusting into the wet slick palm of his lover. 

“E-Emile….” His voice pitches, he whines as Emile twists and pumps his cock, thumb smearing precome over the flushed head. He looks so pretty like this, Emile thinks. Flush, his face and upper chest pink, lips a rose red, swollen from being bitten by both himself and Byleth trying to hold back all his sounds. He likes how his nipples, so pale are barely pink, yet they poke out, begging to be licked and sucked and bitten. Twisted until red and Byleth is left whimpering and begging for more. The thoughts of ways to make Byleth beg make his own cock throb, twitching in the cool air.  
“So loud.” He says, moving down, his face leaving a trail of kisses from Byleth’s neck to his torso. “So obscene.” He loves this- making his lover wait, making him whimper and squirm. Later, he’ll bite his neck, leave a bruise and make sure it’s able to be hidden with ease. No one to know their little secrets but one another.  
Byleth brings a hand to his face, biting his finger as Emile’s hand strokes him firmer, the other hand now moving further, taking oil and precome to smear across the tight ring of muscle that will end his lover into a mess of cum and crying pleas for more.  
“Please-” And so it begins, Byleth’s normal composure breaking apart as he begins to beg. “Please Emile. I want- I need-” A finger is pushed in, teasing, stretching, preparing Byleth for what will soon come. It sends the man into a high pitched keen, his cock throbbing as a tiny glob of thick white cum oozes from the tip just to be smeared up and down by Emile’s ever moving hand. 

Hot, wet tongue licks the velvet skin, tasking musk sweat and the very essence of his lover. He can’t help his own moan, pushing a second finger in, scissoring them, pushing at inner walls, wanting to be able to fuck Byleth sooner rather than later. The action has the man whimpering, hips rocking upwards, fucking Emile’s hand without prompt. He lets Byleth do so, eventually changing his hand for his mouth, more than fine letting his lover fuck his face as he works his ass open, smearing oil and slick to ease what will give them both euphoria. 

“No! No, no please! Emile!” Byleth whines as he pulls away, his fingers glistening and his mouth tasting of cum. It doesn’t matter how much Byleth begs. He knows Emile will give them both what they need and crave. This is the only time they don’t have to be anyone else. When they can just be two men in love.  
The kiss is sloppy, messy, tongues dipping into each other’s mouths, swapping the remnants of Byleth’s come between them. Bitter and salty yet they swallow it down, gasping each other’s names as Emile leans over, moving himself between Byleth’s legs, cock rubbing over the oil slick ass of his lover.

“Byleth.” He gasps as the tip of his cock catches the ring of muscle, as he feels the heat just beyond that one barrier. “Byleth-”

Fingers run down his arm. Fingers lace together as he pushes forward.  
It burns and makes him hiss in pain. How tight Byleth feels, even after all the oil, all the preparation. He always feels so tight. He loves this pain, this battle they have behind closed doors. How Byleth’s face is broken- twisted in agonizing bliss as he cries out, arching again, chest marked in bite marks, nipples red from being abused. Sensitive, Emile licks and sucks and smiles as Byleth cries out for him to stop hearing only for him to keep going, to make it hurt the way Byleth hurts him.

Such exquisite pain. His face twisted in pleasure as Emile sinks in, as he feels his cock be drawn deep, muscles flexing, fluttering around him as he feels skin hit skin, his balls pressed against Byleth’s ass. Joined, he relishes the sight of the professor, nude, exposed and raw and begging for mercy. He is defeated, slain by his own hubris.

Emile loves Byleth like this.  
He loves thrusting in and out, dragging his cock along slick walls, rubbing himself over the small bump he can feel at his tip, that spot that makes Byleth keen, whimpering as his cock bobs, dripping precome over his own stomach.

The wet smack of flesh on flesh, the creak of wooden bed frame as he shows his lover no mercy, as he kills Byleth once, twice, his torso and chest glistening in sweat and trails of white. Painted in testaments of his own deaths- Emile gasps and moans as Byleth reaches up, pulling him down and kissing him.  
His death at Byleth’s hands is sweet, and he succumbs easily then. 

In the warm haze after, when washcloths have cleaned the evidence away, Emile lays in his bed, one arm draped over Byleth’s body, not minding as the other man splays their fingers apart, his green eyes tracing over fingerprints like he might memorize them.  
“Emile-” He sighs, leaning back into his body, into the hold of the man who has sworn he will kill the professor with the crest of flames.  
“I love you.” It is spoken so casually. So simply that Emile doesn’t know what to say.  
So he says nothing, just leans forward to kiss his lover’s shoulder.

In the morning, he’ll put on his mask and be Jeritza again. In the morning Byleth will walk outside, his own stoic mask in place. No one gets to see the faces they make behind closed doors. No one gets to know how weak they are, how easily they might break, be killed by such simple things like a touch or kiss- But in those moments, when Byleth lays in Emile’s bed. When they curl into each other’s arms, they can smile a bit for each other.

A cat meows outside their door, waiting for when one of them with get up, and take them inside.  
But for now, just a little longer, they hold each other’s hand.  
They don’t have to fight what they feel, just for a while longer.


End file.
